Rosalind De Counte & The Lion Tamer
by DelicateKTheory
Summary: Rosalind is the woman of Chris Jericho's dreams, only he doesn't realize it. After an incident at the local Wal-Mart, Jericho winds up becoming Rosalind's fake boyfriend for a day. Will this temporary situation become permanant? One-shot.
1. East Bound & Stood Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this peice. **

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What the hell was he doing here? Chris knew that this evening would inevitably end in disaster; especially when Reso was involved. Jay loved playing match-maker. The only problem was that he was horrible at it. He seemed to have it in his head that Chris preferred dim-witted, manufactured blondes; thus, for the last year or so, Chris's blind dates had been tall, buxom blondes with IQs to match their limited, pubescent vocabulary. Half of these women peaked at slightly average on the standard bell-curve while the other half were under the assumption that Canada was one of the fifty states.

Chris sat, impatiently drumming his fingers against the silk tablecloth.

His date was late...half an hour late.

That was a first. Tonight had been full of firsts. This was the first time he had actually decided to wait it out. (Usually, if she wasn't front-and-center at Reso's appointed time, he left.) This was the first time anyone had dared to stand him up. Not that he minded being stood up; it was usually the wasting of precious milliseconds of sleep that aggravated him. Having his at-bed-by-1-AM-and-up-again-at-5-AM schedule was torture on his body. When he took time out of that important downtime to meet a random stranger in an elegant restaurant, he couldn't help expecting a little common courtesy on said stranger's part.

"Can I get you anything else, Chris?"

Speaking to customers informally was frowned upon by Rosalind's manager, but Chris was somewhat a regular at her table. He was in Alonzo's twice a week, every couple of weeks; so the two often exchanged pleasantries before his latest flavor of the week found her way to her seat.

Chris looked up at her, flashing those million-dollar pearly whites.

"No thanks, Rosalind."

"Are you sure?" She held up the pitcher of water in her right hand.

"I'm sure." He smiled at her again.

Rosalind couldn't help blushing. She always blushed when he looked at her that way. Every time he smiled, an enthralling warmth echoed in those deep blue eyes. Rosalind was certain that he was the reason for the polar ice caps melting. However, as the saying goes, "Her momma didn't raise no fool." Chris was a thirty-something divorcée, with three kids, two mansions in two different countries, and a solidified upper-level slot in the hierarchy of Hollywood. Having a successful professional wrestling career and a well-established music career, coupled with his playboy good looks, proved to be a deadly combination.

"I guess that's it then," Chris gave a sigh as he downed the last of his water. "If you could just bring me the bill, then I'll be on my way."

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet.

"No problem." Rosalind offered a weak sympathetic smile as she took his credit card and placed it inside the bill presenter tucked in her black apron.

She paused a moment. It seemed like she had something she wanted to say, but then decided against it and trotted off.

Chris leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples with his thumb and index finger. The humiliation. The utter humiliation. Sure, Jay was trying to be the helpful best friend, but he wasn't the one going through the public shame, was he? No. Though he wouldn't exactly put this night into the I-want-a-divorce-via-text-message category, this had to be in his top-five most embarrassing moments.

Rosalind gently placed the folded bill presenter in front of Chris. He looked down at it a moment or two, then opened it, signed the restaurant's copy of his order, and took his credit card from the inside pocket.

Even though Alonzo's always calculated the tip, Chris habitually left Rosalind a generous tip.

He dipped into his wallet once more and pulled out two crisps fifty-dollar bills.

"Thanks," he said, holding the bills between his index and middle fingers.

Rosalind hesitated.

"You've earned it," Chris insisted. He dropped the tip on the table once he realized she was still having difficulty taking what was rightfully hers. He took one last sip of water.

"See you in a couple weeks?" Rosalind asked, almost whispering.

Chris grinned in approval as he watched her slowly tuck the money into her apron.

"You bet."

***

Chris had shed his jacket and his tie. He was sitting in his Camaro, in Alonzo's parking lot, with his window cracked, and smoking a cigarette. He had two reasons for stalling: 1) His ex-wife had the kids this week, so he would be coming home to a large empty house. 2) Jay would make the usual phone call in a couple hours to ask how the date went.

With nothing better to do, Chris finished his cigarette and decided to drive around Odessa. He had been living in Florida for quite a while, but due to his tight schedule, he didn't exactly have time to go sight-seeing...not that he would be able to see much at eight-thirty at night. He reasoned that he could do like most people and wander aimlessly around the local Wal-Mart, seeing as it never closed.

Chris snorted at the thought.

No...What he needed was a good stiff bourbon on the rocks. Where, oh where were those comforting neon lights of a bar?

On this side of Odessa, there were only two bars that stayed open until the wee hours of the morning. Chris knew them both well, because he had been three sheets to the wind in one or the other at some point in time. The bartenders were pleasant, and the fans tended to let him be. The only people in those bars were the heavy drinkers.

WES NILE's was the closest bar to his home. If he was too intoxicated before the night was up, he would have a shorter driving distance and a lesser chance of being pulled over by police.

"Hi-ya, Jericho," Wes greeted from behind the bar. He threw up his tattooed arm and gestured for Chris to come in further. He looked over at one of his regulars sitting at the bar. "Hey, Joel, give my man a seat, huh?"

Joel complied, pushing a comatose Dave out of the seat beside him.

Dave toppled over with ease and hit the dirty wooden floor with a thud, but he still didn't wake from his stupor.

Chris paid no mind to him as he stepped over him and took the vacated seat.

"The usual?" Wes asked as he reached behind him for a bottle of his best bourbon.

Chris nodded. "You might want to consider leaving the bottle on this one."

Wes grimaced.

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

Wes grabbed a clean glass, set it on the bar, and dropped several ice cubes into it.

"Did this one at least know her multiplication tables?" he joked, pouring Chris his first round of bourbon.

"Probably not, but that's just speculation," Chris answered, downing the drink in one gulp. "She didn't show up."

"Eh," We said with a shrug, as he poured more drink into Chris's glass. "It's probably for the best, man."

"Absolutely," Chris nodded in agreement.

"Women ar' trouble...not worth fighting for," Joel slurred as he leaned against Chris's shoulder. "The pool boy cleaned leaves outta my leaf trap...man. Then he stole my leaf trap...women...suck."

Chris eyed Joel, who was grinning at him, as if he had just made the most profound statement in the history of mankind.

"I'm not entirely sure about what you said, but what the hell? I'll drink to that."

Joel howled with laughed, clumsily clanking his beer bottle against Chris's glass.

Chris stopped drinking after his third glass of bourbon. He hung around the bar for a couple hours, chatting with Wes, and waiting for his slight buzz to subside.

"Where you heading? Do you need me to call you a cab?" Wes asked as Chris stood up to leave. "You were hitting the bottle pretty hard tonight, man."

"No. I'll be all right. I think I'll go do a little shopping."

"At ten-thirty?"

Chris nodded, threw a stack of twenty dollar bills on the bar, and turned to leave.

"Keep the change."


	2. Where To?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this piece. ****Fozzy owns the lyrics on this page.**

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Chris was moseying down each aisle at Wal-Mart, solemnly pushing his empty shopping-cart. He somehow managed to find himself in the aisle that was largely comprised of feminine products. He picked up a box of his ex-wife's preferred tampon brand and was just about to put it into the cart, but realized what he was doing and stopped himself.

Chris looked at the box and groaned as he put it back. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever get used to shopping for just him and his children. When did he become this man? Better yet, how did he become this man?

"Get it together, Chris." He grumbled as he glared at the tampon boxes.

Marriage had been a blessing and harder than any bump he had taken inside a wrestling ring, but he had no regrets.

The hardest part of moving on was having the will to do so. At first, he wasn't sure if he wanted to move on; he had settled quite comfortably into the family-man mindset and wasn't sure if he could brave the world as a bachelor again. Luckily, he didn't have to dwell on it too long. It was Jay to the rescue with two women for him, one on each arm.

Chris managed to tear his eyes away from the other products and continued down the aisle. Coming toward him, with her head turned to the right and reading various labels on some items, was Rosalind. She was still in her waitressing uniform—a white, collared blouse and black dress pants—but her hair brunette hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Hey there, stranger," Chris said with a smile. "Spending that tip money already, are we?"

Rosalind jerked her head up. She stared at him a moment. "Chris? What are you doing here?"

"Shopping...Well, I'm more or less doing something to pass the time."

Rosalind pulled her cart to a stop. She was standing several feet away from him. It looked almost as though she thought that he had some kind of contagious disease and she didn't want to catch it. Was he still staggering or something? Perhaps she felt embarrassed about grabbing a box of maxi pads while he was standing right there. With that thought in mind, he moved to one side and slowly moved along.

"Your date finally showed up."

Chris stopped and turned around, only to find that Rosalind was standing behind him. Instead of reaching for maxi pads, she was picking up a bottle of shampoo.

"I just thought you might want to know that," she said as he stared at her blankly. "She showed up about five minutes or so after you left."

"How comforting," Chris muttered, sarcastically.

Rosalind ignored the curtness in his tone. "She should have at least called or something. If I were her, I would have."

"If you were her, I doubt we would be having a date in Wal-Mart."

Rosalind looked down at the floor, and smiled, "Oh, I wouldn't say that...I'm a pretty cheap date."

Chris chuckled. He reached the end of the aisle and then stopped.

Rosalind took that as an invitation to join him, so she gathered what other products she needed and strolled up beside him. The two continued moving.

"Where to?" Chris asked as they scurried down one aisle and up the next.

"Ummm...I need a few snacks. Chips, dip—that kind of thing," she replied.

"Snack aisle it is."

She wondered if Chris ate snacks. It was a silly thought, but she had been his waitress for almost a year and half, and she couldn't even recall him ordering dessert. He had a great physique and gorging himself with cookies and cakes would ruin it; so she assumed he was on a strict diet like most athletes. Still, she felt the need to explain herself once they reached the endless aisle of empty calories. Since she had made a failed attempt to grovel tonight, maybe the explanation would be to her benefit.

"My nephew's birthday is in a couple of weeks." She said as she picked up two large bags of regular potatoes chips and tossed them into her cart. "I saw that the snacks and stuff were on sale, so I thought I'd swing by after my shift."

Chris gave an understanding nod.

Rosalind got a large jar of salsa and put it in the chart as well. She briefly looked up to find that Chris was staring at her...a little too intensely. She gripped the handle of her chart nervously and forged onward.

"I really hate asking you this," she began, looking down as she spoke, "because I don't want you to think I'm using you. I was going to ask you after you're date tonight, but you seemed upset. So I didn't want to bother you, but—"

"Your nephew is a really big wrestling fan, and you were wondering if you could get my autograph for him for his birthday?" Chris interrupted with a knowing laugh. "Sure, I think I still have some of my eight-by-tens at the house. I'll sign one and swing by Alonzo's tomorrow night."

Rosalind stared at him, taken aback by his generosity.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." He nodded, giving her that beautiful ice-cap-melting smile.

She blushed.

"Thank you...Now it's your turn. Where to?"

***

Chris was appalled by the fact that Rosalind was still living in the New Kid's on the Block Era. He was making it his personal mission to educate her on some of the greatest heavy metal bands to ever grace a concert stage. When they arrived at the electronics section, he gave Rosalind the task of finding CDs by Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Kiss, and Judas Priest. She was to listen to the preview tracks off of each CD and then purchase one them.

While she was gathering her educational materials, he stood in the aisle opposite the music section and browsed through DVDs.

_"You're my enemy. All that we had has gone away..." _

Chris jumped at the sound of his cell phone, and he dropped the DVD he had in his hands. He knew who it was without reading the caller identification.

"And just when I thought I was let off the hook," he answered with a sigh. "You're about half an hour late on the usual check-up."

Jay ignored him.

"So, was she hot?"

Chris frowned.

"Are you telling me that you set me up on a date with a women _you've_ never even met?"

"You're the one that's breezed through all of my ex-girlfriends. I finally had do a little outsourcing...So...was she hot? Were her melons the size of...melons?"

Chris rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't know. She never showed up...not until after I left."

"Oh...bummer," Jay said after a moment. "Don't worry, man, there's plenty of other fish left in the Reso-Copeland fish-pond."

Chris let out a sigh of aggravation.

"When are you going to give it a rest? There's no point in trying to set me up on these blind dates. I don't even like the women you set me up with."

Jay let out a hearty laugh.

"I don't care if you like them. I'm just trying to get you laid. Find you someone that'll tickle your twig and berries for a night or two...The quickest way to overcome postpartum divorce is to have random sex with strangers; it makes up for the last five years of your marriage where you were a celibate errand-boy that catered to your selfish wife's every need."

"Have you ever considered thinking before you actually speak?"

"You know I'm right." Jay insisted, once again ignoring Chris's sarcasm. "Even a devote Christian—no pun intended—man, like yourself, can understand that. You need to just throw yourself out there. Get to shaking those Egyptian-cotton bed sheets, my friend! It's the only way!"

"Once again," Chris sighed in disinterest as he read the synopsis on the back of another DVD case. "I find your overwhelming concern for my love-life disturbing, Jay. The more you keep going like this, the more I'm going to insist that you seek some sort of mental evaluation."

"Well, I'm married...I no longer have a love-life. I'm forced to live vicariously through yours, and you're killing me, man!"

Chris laughed. "Sorry I'm disappointing you."

Rosalind came scurrying down the aisle, toward him. She was holding up two CDs. Deep Purple was in her right hand and Led Zeppelin in her left.

"I can't decide," she said, "so you pick."

"Who was that?" Jay's sonar hearing picked up on the sounds of the opposite sex.

"A friend."

"Well, this friend sounds smoking-hot. Is she hot? Are you going to take her back to your place? Oh, if you do, close the blinds in your living-room. That way I'll know that the sexy beast in Chris Jericho is alive and well."

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that."

"What? What did I say?"

"I'm hanging up now, Jay."

Jay was still saying something when Chris shut his phone; he slid it into his pant's pocket.

Rosalind was staring at him; her was head cocked to the side as she awaited his reply.

"Zeppelin is always good," he said, pointing to her left hand.

She nodded and tossed the CD into his shopping-cart.

"It's so you don't look completely pathetic walking through Wal-Mart with an empty buggy," she explained, taking note of the confused expression across his face.

It took Chris a second to realize that she was teasing him.

"Well, hello Rosalind's sense of humor," he smirked. "It's nice to finally meet you."

She blushed—yet again—and rolled her eyes. "Cute."

"I know...I'm told that quite frequently. It pays to have a rather gigantic female fan-base when the self-esteem tank runs low."

She laughed. "I bet."

Chris gestured for her to lead the way, back to her own shopping-cart.

"Where to?" He asked again.


	3. Ego Deflation on Aisle Twelve

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this piece. **

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Chris and Rosalind were walking down the last aisle of the evening. After Rosalind picked up some party supplies, she intended on checking out, and then Chris wouldn't see her again until his next blind date rolled around.

While Rosalind was asking Chris about his wrestling career or his interest music, the only thing he kept the thinking about was what Reso had asked.

_"Is she hot?"_

He didn't know why that particular question was lodged in his brain and repeating with a thunderous echo.

Was Rosalind hot?

In search of an answer, Chris found himself giving her a thorough once-over whenever she stopped in front of him to get some paper plates.

She had a delicate heart-shaped face and a pair of brown eyes that he could easily get lost in, a contagious melodic laugh, and a gentle smile. Wholesomeness radiated from her graceful movements. She was a wily temptress and didn't know it.

So, yes, he found her attractive. Why he had never noticed that before was beyond him.

"Chris?" Rosalind was waving her hands in font of his face.

Chris blinked several times, unaware that he had drifted away from the conversation.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

She smiled.

"I asked, from a male's perspective, what kind of hats and plates would you prefer—Batman or Superman?"

"What, no Pokémon?" Chris teased, giving her an adorable pout. "What's the world coming to when Pikachu is no longer an option for party favors?"

She laughed.

"Just choose, please."

Chris put his finger to his lips and pretended to be in deep thought over the matter.

"Well, let's see. Superman can stop a speeding bullet, which would kill Batman, obviously. On the other hand, Superman wears a highly unflattering, not to mention inappropriate, spandex suit. Well...then again...Batman is false advertisement. Have you ever noticed in the movies how Batman is played by really scrawny actors, but the second they put on bat-suit, they have chiseled abs? At least with a spandex suit, you can't mislead children...So, I guess if I really had to narrow it down—"

"Oh my god!" Rosalind suddenly gasped.

Chris thought he had finally drove her mad and chuckled at the expression across her face. "What? Am I reading to much into it?"

"Just turn around! Turn around! Turn around!" She hissed, frantically.

Chris didn't have a chance to get his legs in sync with Rosalind's fast reflexes as she spun him around in the opposite direction. The next thing he knew, he was being drug along by his runaway shopping-cart. He could hear Rosalind's chart rattling beside him as they raced down the aisle. He was scrambling for his footing, but he could foresee he himself crashing into that tower of two-for-one canned-soups.

The only thought running through his head was: _Clean up on aisle twelve._

"Rosalind?" A male voice from behind them called.

Rosalind screeched to a halt, and Chris finally coasted to a stop as well.

"Crap..."

"Chris," Rosalind whispered fretfully as she turned to Chris. "I know this is really weird, but I'm going to need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Rosalind?" The impatient male voice repeated. "Is that you?"

"That's Parker, my ex-fiancée," Rosalind rattled off so fast that he almost didn't catch it. "I don't want him to see me like this...I haven't had a boyfriend in nine years years, and he's got that blonde, model tart. It's just one more thing he can throw in my face. He's living all high and mighty, while I'm still the lowly little waitress he met during Spring Break his freshman year of college...Please, please...do this for me."

"Just take a deep breath," Chris hissed in response. "You don't have to turn around. Keep walking."

"Rosalind?" Parker said a third time; he sounded annoyed.

Chris felt that she was going to turn around.

"Don't do it."

"I have to."

"Don't...Don't you'll—"

"Parker," Rosalind's voice hitched as she spoke. With a smile plastered on her face, she turned to stare at her former lover and his current girlfriend.

"Never mind," Chris sighed, also turning around.

"Rosalind," Parker smiled.

The superiority in his tone made Rosalind cringe. She glanced at the "blonde, model, tart" that was hanging onto his arm. She was flashing a large diamond on her left ring-finger.

"Parker...Quinn. Did you guys take a wrong turn on your way to _Abercrombie & Fitch_?"

Parker threw back his well-groomed head of hair and let out a phony laugh that was enough to make Chris want to beat him into unconsciousness with a bag of Cheetos.

"Good one," he chuckled. "It's nice to see that you haven't changed a bit."

Parker took note of Chris, standing next to her.

"And you are?" He inquired that, as if he didn't have the slightest idea. However, by the sardonic tone in his voice, he did.

"I'm Chris...Chris Jericho."

Chris didn't bother extending his hand. Sure, he played a villain on television, but he was afraid he would catch an actual case of Bona Fide Assclown from this character before him.

"Oh, that's right," Parker thumped himself on the head. "You're that wrestler."

"Yes." Chris instantly and effortlessly turned the volume up on his own egocentric meter. "I'm _that_ wrestler, with a 2.5 million dollar estate in Winnipeg, Canada and a 1.5 million dollar mansion here in Florida—" Chris mimicked Parker's phony laugh and pulled Rosalind close to him— "but really, who has time to count houses when I'm preoccupied with this pretty little number?"

Rosalind choked on a laugh.

It was amusing to watch Parker's tanned complexion suddenly turn white.

"So, you two are...?" He trailed off.

Chris's arm slipped from Rosalind's shoulders to her waist, as if to answer Parker's question.

Man, he was laying it on thick, and Rosalind didn't know what was worse...The fact that she was eerily calm in his grasp or the fact that she was about to faint because he smelled so sweet?

"Mom would be so happy for you." He forced a smile as he spoke to Rosalind. He made an attempt to redeem his wounded ego. "As you may have noticed, Quinn and I are engaged. Mom's throwing the party tomorrow."

"We're supposed to be getting bags for our guests' gifts." Quinn finally chimed in, using her annoying bubbly voice. She turned to Parker, "So, come on, shuggie-bear, let's go on about our business and leave those two alone."

"The mannequin speaks," Chris mumbled into Rosalind's ear.

She elbowed him playfully in the chest.

He chuckled.

Watching this seemingly couple-like behavior, must have further irritated Parker. He curtly nodded to his fiancée.

"Nice seeing you again, Lin...Chris."

As the couple turned to leave, both Rosalind and Chris breathed inward sighs of relief. Rosalind mouth a thank-you, and Chris nodded in response. They were about to turn around themselves...

"You know what?" Parker stopped abruptly. "Maybe you two should come tomorrow. Mom would be thrilled to see you again, Lin."

"Honey," Quinn was quick to step in, "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"And Chris is a very busy man," Rosalind added, feeling the knots in her stomach tighten. "Tomorrow is his last day off before he has to go back to work. He'll need to pack and—"

"We'll be there," Chris interrupted.

Parker seemed shocked. He probably didn't think in a million years that Chris would actually agree to it. Good, Chris liked the element of surprise.

"Great," Parker smiled, gritting his teeth as he looked at Rosalind. "Do you still remember how to get to Mom's?"

Rosalind nodded, absentmindedly. She was too astonished to say anything else.

"Well then, we'll see you tomorrow."

Chris waited until Parker and Quinn disappeared around the corner before he spoke. "I vote for tarring and feathering that charming little cretin in a public square—the 'blonde, model tart', as well."

"What on earth have you done?!" Rosalind let out a cry, which was coupled with an unsteady, nervous laughter.

"Succeeding at making your ex-fiancée jealous," Chris replied nonchalantly, as he turned both their shopping-carts around.

_Ego deflation on aisle twelve._

"I can't show up tomorrow...I just can't," Rosalind was saying, more to herself than to him.

At this point, she was too distracted to pick out plates, so Chris stepped around her and picked up a package of Superman plates. He had one hand on the small of her back; that was a gesture he often did when he was reaching around his ex-wife for something.

"Did you see that ring?! That humongous, plant-sized ring! She gets that, and I got some dinky plastic ring out of a Cracker Jack box, because that was all he could afford at the time." Rosalind was prattling on. "'Who cares about material things?' I'll tell him who cares. That inflatable bitch to his left. That's who!"

She was walking along side Chris, but completely unaware that she had left him to push both carts. He was listening and laughing at her monologues.

"Why? Why did you do that?" Rosalind asked, suddenly grabbing Chris's arm and pulling him to an abrupt halt. "You could have just declined his offer and that would have been the end of it."

"And you could have kept walking, but you turned around." He flashed her an adorable smirk. "So, I guess we're even."


	4. Arsenic at the Engagement Party

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this piece. **

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Bringing Rosalind a rose seemed like a silly idea, because technically she wasn't Chris's date. However, friends taking out other friends to make ex-fiancées jealous needed to keep up appearances. So here he stood, on Rosalind's front step, rose in hand.

He had opted for casual wear. Driving his brand new Ferrari was boastful enough; he didn't want to draw that much attention to the fact that he had several Armani suites that were probably worth more than Quinn's little engagement ring. He wore a plain black T-shirt and a pair of close-fitting denim jeans. He was presentable, but no overly dressed.

He rang the doorbell a second time.

"Coming, coming." He heard Rosalind anxiously call from inside.

There was a loud slam against the door, which caused the doorknocker to rattle.

Perplexed, Chris took a cautious leap back.

"Ow, ow, ow." Rosalind was groaning, holding her brow, as she opened the door.

"Well that's one way to try to open a door."

She stepped out into the sunlight and looked up at Chris with those enchanting brown eyes.

"I'm a bleeding?"

Chris laughed and gently moved her hand so he could see.

"No," he answered, "but you'll most likely have a nasty bruise. Maybe we should sit this one out. I can't have your ex-fiancée thinking that I'm a fake-girlfriend beater. He'd probably leak it to the tabloids, and then I would be known as the divorced musician-wrestler suffering from Roid Rage. I don't need that kind of publicity, so..."

He turned around and pretended like he was leaving.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Rosalind shrieked as she grabbed his arm. "You jumped into the middle of this melee, so now you have to help me finish it."

Chris gracefully spun around on his heel and flashed her a knee-weakening smirk.

"Just kidding."

He presented his rose as he gave her the once-over.

"For the lady with a busted brow." He grinned, adding, "and wearing a beautiful sundress."

Chris had to resist biting his lip. Beautiful didn't do that little black dress justice.

Rosalind blushed. As she took the rose from him, she smiled, "Thank you...And you look very dapper yourself."

"Why thank you." He offered her his arm. "Shall we go crash an engagement party?"

***

"What are you doing?" Rosalind gasped as Chris intertwined their fingers. She had noticed that, as they were walking up Parker's mother's front lawn, Chris was inching closer to her; and then, right as they reached the front door, he grabbed her hand.

"Oh, just looking the part," he replied into her ear.

She shuddered slightly as a chill shot down her spine.

"Oh..." She said in a bated breath.

Was he really trying to make sure that their story was viable or was there some underlying emotions here?

Chris gave her hand a light squeeze as he reach forward and knocked on the door.

"We're all on the back patio," came a women's voice.

Rosalind and Chris turned to their right to see a woman coming around the side of the house. Beverly was a spry, petite woman. It had been years since Rosalind had seen her, but she hadn't changed. She still wore those bright floral blouses; the ones that usually stopped traffic. She still had that short bob hairstyle, only it was frosted with shades of gray now.

"Well, would you look at that?" Beverly's soft features lit up as she saw Rosalind standing on her front porch. "Rosalind De Counte...I never thought I'd see the day."

Beverly bound up to the porch with enthusiastic strides.

"It's good to see you again, Bev," Rosalind smiled.

Beverly cooed and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Oh, honey, Parker told me that you were coming, but I just didn't think...I just had to see it for myself."

Beverly tightened her grip and swayed to and foe in excitement.

Rosalind laughed.

"I'm sorry, dear." Beverly said as she pulled back. "I'm just so happy to be around family again..." She turned to the stranger that was standing next to Rosalind. "Oh, well, I guess I should also welcome you to the family, too. You must be, Chris? I've seen you on the news. I think you do such a wonderful job with those underprivileged children."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much. That's so sweet of you to say."

Rosalind failed to hide her astonishment as she glanced over at her gorgeous date for the afternoon. He did charitable work for underprivileged children? Was there anything that this man didn't do? So what if he was walking arsenic in tight jeans. The man was virtually perfect. So Rosalind was certain that, if she had half a chance, she would gladly drink from any ill-fated cup he was offering.

Chris just smiled warmly at Rosalind and politely turned his attention to Beverly as she spoke to him.

"And you see what all that wonderful karma does for you," Beverly turned to Rosalind, with a beaming expression across her face as she gripped her shoulders. "A wonderful woman like Rosalind comes into your life."

"Yes, ma'am," Chris chuckled, watching as his date's face turned as red as that rose he had given her earlier.

"Well, c'mon you two," Beverly gestured for them to follow her. "The hostess can't host an engagement party, if she's too busy fraternizing with the preferred guests. Follow me."

Chris slipped beside Rosalind again as they followed Beverly down the steps. Her forehead was becoming creased with worry again; so he grabbed her hand. Maybe that would keep her calm.

"Should I have brought them a gift or something?" she hissed. The scent of her spearmint gum wafted into his nostrils, as she continued, "I mean, I never saw the light of day for my own engagement party, but I should still be hospitable, right?"

Chris laughed, whispering back, "Oh, yes. Meaningful gifts from an ex are highly appropriate in situations like these."

Rosalind rolled her eyes, but a smile was dancing across her lips.

"If it means that much to you, I can write them a check. Maybe Parker can purchase the pixie princess a new nose."

She giggled in response and playfully nudged Chris with her shoulder.

He chuckled.

"Lin...Chris..." Parker was standing, with the pixie princess hanging off his arm, chatting it up with some of his guests. He wasn't to thrilled to see them there. That much was painfully obvious, but it was his fault. He shouldn't have tried to one-up Chris and rub his good fortune (if that's what he wanted to call it) in Rosalind's beautiful face.

"I'm glad you both made it."

"Parker," Beverly was eyeing him. "You invited them, so be nice."

"What?" Parker laughed nervously. "I am being nice."

"And I'm Gandhi," Beverly rolled her eyes. She looked back at Chris. "Come on, sweetheart, why don't you and Rosalind come with me? I'd love to hear the story of how you two met."

How they met? Rosalind's body tensed up in panic. She and Chris had not worked out the details of their "romance." Chris was obviously and expert at conjuring up stories when he was put on the spot. Maybe he had something.

"I can't lie to, Bev," Rosalind whispered to Chris whenever Beverly disappeared inside the house to get them something to drink. "I've never been able to lie convincingly to Bev."

Chris was sitting in the lawn chair next to her and holding her hand like a good little boyfriend. Parker was trying to inconspicuously glare at him and was failing miserably. Chris laughed in amusement and waved.

"You don't have to lie to her," he said, still smiling at Parker.

"Well, I can't tell her the truth about us, either." Rosalind glanced at Parker as well. "I'm going to screw this up. I can feel it. _He's_ going to find out this is all a sham and—Oh, God, I'll surely go to hell for this."

"That's nonsense," Chris laughed, turning his attention back to her. "We're both going to hell...I'm the key player in this little game of Fool the Former Fiancée. Not to mention, I think I'm having far too much fun playing pretend."

"I can see that."

Beverly emerged from the house, two glasses of soda in hand.

"So, what's this story?" she asked. She pulled up a chair and eagerly took a seat. "How did you two lovebirds meet?"

Rosalind was silent as she awkwardly took a gulp of her drink.

"Oh, it was nothing on a grand scale and very unexpected," Chris replied, leaning forward in his chair. "I was a regular customer at the restaurant she works for. And one day, when she came over to give me a water refill, I realized that I wanted more than just a refill. That was that."

"Awww, that's so adorable," Beverly cooed. She turned to Rosalind. "You're still at Alonzo's? I thought you'd be jet-setting around the world, dear? Didn't you get accepted to that art school in London a few years back?"

Rosalind took another gulp of soda and nodded.

"Yes...Then life happened, so I put it off. Now, here I am."

Beverly frowned, gave and understanding nod, and then glanced at Chris and winked, "But it all worked out for the best, I see."

"That's true." Rosalind glanced over at Chris as he squeezed her hand. "...I-I guess."

Beverly clasped her hands together.

"Oh, you two have such a bright future ahead of you. I can just see it. I hope I'll be getting an invitation when you have your own engagement party."

"I don't know about that, Bev." Rosalind blushed, looking down at the concrete.

"You can count on it," Chris said with a crooked smile.

***

"So, what are you doing with you're life now, Rosalind? Is it still the same old I-wish-I-may-I wish-I-might, or have you finally reached for the stars? By stars, I certainly don't mean Chris, here."

This was it. This was why Parker wanted her here. He wanted to deface her in front of their former acquaintances. He wanted to strip away the glitz and glamour to prove that she was and will always be half a step behind him.

The second Beverly went into the kitchen, Parker's claws came out. He, of course, was insulting her in a way that wouldn't alarm his other guests. He was eyeing her, burning through her four layers of flesh until it was almost like looking through a piece of cellophane.

"Well, to be honest with you, Parker," Rosalind cleared her throat and put her fork into her plate, "I don't think my personal life is any of your concern anymore. Wouldn't you agree, Quinn?"

Quinn tried to conceal her discomfort as she signaled for Parker to keep quiet.

Parker laughed.

"Aren't friends allowed to catch up with other friends?"

"Yes," Chris intervened, "unless those two friends were romantically involved. Then—then, I believe that friend-to-friend-catch-up rule is null and void."

Parker glowered at Chris coldly. "Touché."

He turned to Quinn. "Hey, babe, why don't you see if Mom needs any help with that dessert?"

Quinn gave Rosalind and Chris anxious looks before she slowly nodded. She rose from the picnic table that had been set up outside and disappeared inside the house.

"Well," Parker set his sights on Rosalind again, "do I even get an inkling of information on how you've been doing?"

"She's been doing just fine," Chris spoke up again, irritation in his tone.

"What he said."

"I see," Parker pursed his lips. He was deep in thought for a moment or two. "Can't say that I'm not surprised that you never went to London after we split. You were always terrified of change. Just imagine how you would have been if you had had the—Well, I really shouldn't be digging up the past, now should I?"

Chris could have sworn he heard Rosalind's heart fall to the floor as she stood up from the table.

"If you'll excuse me," she said softly, "I have to use the restroom."

She dashed inside the house.

Chris glared at Parker, his jaw tightly clenched. If she would have had the baby; Chris knew that's what Parker had wanted to say. His initial thought was, why would anyone want to reproduce with that thing? The second thought was, why hadn't someone took this pretentious little serpent to an abandoned parking-lot and cleaned his clock?

"I didn't mean to upset her," Parker said, oozing false sincerity.

Chris leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sure, you didn't...What bothers you the most, Parker? The fact that you know you made the biggest mistake of your life by letting her slip away, or the fact that she's found someone better than you in every conceivable way?"

Parked glared at him and lowered his voice a considerable amount. "Nothing bothers me, with the exception of the fact that it is painfully obvious that you two are not dating."

Chris arched a brow, and laughed, "Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so."

"Oh, and pray tell, what gave you that idea?"

"Because you're you and she's her."

Chris chuckled.

"Your intellectual capabilities are astounding. Did you come up with that flawed logic all by yourself?"

Parker snarled and still attempted to save himself from embarrassment.

"Well, if you two are dating, then why aren't you rushing to her side right now?"

Chris nodded in agreement.

"Good point. Then again, why would I want to give you the assumption that you actually had that much of an affect on her?" Chris paused a moment to relish in the fact that he had he had once again put Parker in his place. He added, lowering his voice, "But, if you did have an affect on her, you can rest assure that she will be taken care of. By the end of the evening, she'll be saying, 'Parker who?'"

Chris inwardly cringed because he was starting to sound like Jay.

"Is that so?" Parker sounded like a broken record, because he had nothing to say to that kind of remark.

"Yes," Chris smirked. "You might as well document that little fact in your Hello Kitty diary whenever you and the misses go to bed tonight."

"You're bluffing." Parker snorted in disbelief.

"Am I?"

"You're brass and confident, Jericho," Parker said, "but you're acting tonight has been atrocious. You're trying too hard to convince me that you and Rosalind are the poster-child for perfect couples."

"Jealousy is not a good look for you, whatever-your-last-name-is-I-don't-particularly-care," Chris laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "It will make that spray-tan of yours wrinkle."

"Ha!" Parker rolled his eyes. "_If_ you're with my leftovers, I have nothing to be jealous about."

Just then, Rosalind emerged. She was unnerved, but putting on a brave face.

"We'll see about that." Chris said, smirking as he wiped his mouth and stood up.

Rosalind froze in mid-stride. Chris was coming toward her quickly and clearly with a purpose. A thunderstorm of anger had transformed his peaceful blue eyes into a raging sea.

"Chris, what's g—" She started to ask, but his actions cut her off.

In a few fluid motions, Chris had wrapped an arm around her waist and placed his free hand at the base of her neck. He pulled her into his body.

Rosalind squeaked, wide-eyed as Chris's lips met hers. At first, she was resisted—because her mind was too busy trying to reach a conclusion about how the two of them had suddenly arrived at this juncture—but soon she melted into his arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and surrendered. It was a kiss so slow, so tender, so absolutely gratifying that it made even the greatest of romantic films look like amateurs. Perfection at its best.

"Oh...wow," Rosalind gasped as Chris turned her loose and stepped away. The ground seemed to be spinning beneath her feet and she found herself pitching forward.

Chris chuckled, placing one last peck across her lips for good measure. He allowed her to lean against his chest until she found her footing.

"Are you ready to blow this popsicle stand?" he asked, looking down at her. The color in her face disappeared. She had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply, as if to calm herself.

"I believe we've over-stayed our welcome."

"S-sure," she replied, finally look opening her eyes. "Let me just Bev tell bye."

"I think you mean, 'Let me just tell Bev bye.""

"We can go with that." Rosalind nodded absentmindedly.

With a satiated expression across her face, she staggered backward and almost fell.

Chris raised a brow as he grabbed her by the arm.

"Do you need me to come with you?" he asked, slightly amused.

"No...You, you, you stay," Rosalind stammered, quickly trying to stumble her way back into the house. "One just minute I'll be...I mean, I'll be just one minute."

Chris grinned. "All right. Take your time. Don't hurt yourself."

Rosalind nodded, and the instant she turned around, she ran face-first into the doorframe.

Chris snuck a peek over his shoulder. Parker was glaring at him. He smirked, as if to say, "I told you so."


	5. Sugar Cookies & Fake Breasted Broads

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this peice. **

* * *

Chris had screwed up. He had complicated an already complicated situation by kissing Rosalind. It was a stupid, impetuous move and he should have known better. Rosalind hadn't spoke to him the whole ride, and he was beginning to think she wouldn't speak to him ever again. That didn't mean that he wouldn't stop trying to make it right. If he had to, every time he was home, he would be at the restaurant everyday with two-dozen and a hand-written apology. If roses and notes didn't work, he would go old-school—pouring his heart out in song on her front step. Next to his daughters, Rosalind was the only woman in his life at the moment; he couldn't bare the thought of her not offering him that comforting smile whenever one of Adam's or Jay's exes stands him up.

"It's still early." Chris said as he looked at the digital clock on his car stereo. "Would you like to go back to my place for a while? Since we didn't have dessert, maybe we could...well, have dessert."

"Sure," Rosalind replied, almost whispering. "Dessert sounds fine."

Chris had a beautiful lake-front property in a little subdivision of a housing development. As of late, however, when his children weren't around, it felt like a beautiful lake-front prison.

"Make yourself at home," Chris said as he tossed his car keys in the dish, on the table, by the door. "I'll run into the kitchen and see what we can have for dessert."

Rosalind nodded and looked around the foyer for a moment before wandering into the living room.

Chris sighed, shaking his head in despair. Any conversations that proceeded the pleasantries were going to be agonizing. With his feet dragging, he headed for the kitchen.

When Chris opened the door to his stainless steel refrigerator, he groaned. He knew he should have actually done some grocery shopping when he was lollygagging in Wal-Mart yesterday. His only dessert options were a five-week-old lemon meringue pie that Jay's wife had made or some ready-to-bake sugar cookies in the shape of _Dora the Explorer_.

"Kiddy cookies, it is," Chris said allowed, as he grabbed the package cookie dough and shut the refrigerator door. He placed the frozen package of cookies onto the cutting-board that was attached to his marble countertop. Chris had baked cookies so many times for his girls that he didn't even bother reading the directions on the packages anymore. He went straight for the cabinet that he kept his baking pan in.

He had pre-heated the oven and was just about to remove the cookie dough from its package when his cell phone rang.

"What is it, Jay?" he sighed, holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder. He carefully removed the cookies from their packaging and placed them onto his greased baking pan.

"Dude, where were you?"

Chris furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Miami, man!" Jay shrieked. "Miami! We were supposed to go to the beach today. We've had it planned for weeks. You, me, and a six-pack of lite, on the beach; catching some rays and scoping out the chicks...Well, you were to be scoping. I'm on a strict look-but-don't-touch agreement with the wife...Anyway, I reminded you about Miami last night, and you still bailed on me!"

"Oh..." Chris paused a moment before he put the cookies into the oven. "Right...Sorry, but to be fair, I hung up on you last night. So technically, your reminder doesn't count."

"Oh, right, sorry," Jay scoffed. "I drove down to the beach and waited for you for almost two hours. I drank all the beer. Plus, I had a triangle of sun block on my nose, Chris! A triangle of sun block! I looked like a drunk jackass, and you know who wasn't being a drunk jackass with me? You, Chris, you! So don't give me that, 'Oh, right, sorry' crap, okay?"

Chris was silent for a few minutes.

"You know, Ritalin just might do the trick for you."

"This isn't a time for jokes, Chris," Jay scorned. "You need to start taking yourself more seriously, man."

"I am taking myself more seriously, Mr. Triangle of Sun Block," Chris laughed. "I'm sorry if I find your approach to dating a little too after school special, and I'm sorry for not showing up today, but I had a prior engagement."

"Well, unless it involves screwing two fake-breasted broads in French bikinis, I don't want to hear about it."

Chris rolled his eyes.

"Well, as enjoyable as it is dissect my sex-life, I really have to be going, Jay."

"Wait a minute," Jay wailed in excitement. "You've got a fake-breasted broad there right now, don't you?"

"What? No."

"Yes. You do."

"No. I don't."

"Yes. You do."

"No, I don't...I'm fairly certain her breasts are one-hundred percent real, and unlike you, I try not to visualize every woman I meet scantily-clad. This is reality, Jay, not an issue of Sports Illustrated."

Jay was overcome with joy that he started breathing heavily.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! Okay, I know you're a little rusty at this, so do you want some advice?"

"No."

"Ah, c'mon."

"No. Good-bye, Jay."

"Wait, wait...I have to know what's going on."

"Good-bye, Jay."

Chris hung up.

He put his elbows on the counter and buried his face in his hands. He would need to be drunk to survive the rest of this evening.


	6. Out of Line

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this piece. **

**A/N: I just want to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. It means a lot to me.**

* * *

Rosalind sat on Chris's black leather sofa with her hands folded in her lap. She was staring blankly out the sliding-glass door, at the lake. Chris had kissed her; it took the entire ride back to his place for that to really sink in. How was she supposed to act now? Was she supposed to pretend that it didn't happen? His romantic interest in her was just a ploy to get Parker off her back, right? When she ran into Parker again, was she supposed to keep pretending that she and Chris were about five seconds from frolicking off into the sunset?

Out of all of the questions that were swimming around in her head, the one she wanted an answer to the most was: What if she wanted to kiss him again? What was she supposed to do then?

Rosalind put her fingers to her lips. She could still taste him. She could still feel his lips against hers, feel his warm body pulling her in, hear his beating heart as she rested herself against him. Oh, God...Why did she agree to come here? Spending more time with him was going to be torture.

Chris coming into the room tore her away from her inner turmoil. He entered with an effortless graceful swagger and his thumbs in his belt loops.

Rosalind stared at him, at a loss for words.

"So..." He smiled a bashful smile. "May I get you something to drink water, soda, milk?"

"Alcohol," Rosalind found herself blurting out. "Anything with alcohol."

Chris chuckled. "I believe I still have a bottle of Merlot in the refrigerator."

It was the wine he had been saving for his anniversary with his wife. It was from 2000. He had bought it shortly he and his wife married, and they had made a pact to open it on their tenth wedding anniversary. Now, when their tenth-anniversary rolled around, the only thing he would be opening was his pocket. Ah, there was nothing like alimony and the trials of joint-custody.

He would have given the bottle away, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it; Until that very moment, he was content with it staying in the bottom drawer of his refrigerator collecting dust.

"Wine sounds wonderful," Rosalind replied. "Unless you were saving it for something else?"

"No," he lied, shaking his head. "Let me go get you a glass."

He disappeared into the kitchen again.

_Great, wonderful idea_, Rosalind scolded herself. _Get drunk and see where that takes you. Stupid girl!_

The loud sound of the wine bottle being uncorked caused her to jump.

A few minutes later, Chris re-emerged, carrying two long-stemmed glasses of expensive truth serum.

"Thank you." Rosalind forced a smile as Chris handed her a glass of wine. She took a sip.

"The dessert should be ready momentarily," he said, taking a seat in the recliner adjacent to her.

Rosalind nodded again.

A few moments of intense silence.

"So, you're an artist?" Chris asked in an effort to end the silence.

"I _was_," Rosalind corrected, "I was an artist. I haven't the touched a canvas in years." Her eyes briefly connected with the family photos that were hanging on the wall above Chris's head and then gazed directly into his eyes. "The last pieces I did were the murals on the bathroom walls at Alonzo's."

"The beach scenes? No kidding. That's my favorite part about using the urinals. Sometimes I just go in there, so that I can feel like I'm on vacation."

Rosalind laughed a little bit.

More silence.

_"You're my enemy. All that we had has gone away..."_

Chris jumped, which caused some wine to splash onto his shirt.

"Shit." He muttered as he set his glass on the coffee table. He rummaged in his pocket for his cell phone and then read the caller identification. If it wasn't work-related, he wasn't going take the call.

It was Jay again. Chris rolled his eyes and turned off his phone mid-ring.

"He'll be buying a new shirt," Chris said aloud. He looked at Rosalind. "Would you excuse me for one moment? I need to try to get this in the wash before it stains."

Rosalind nodded.

He took a detour into the kitchen to check on the cookies and then sprinted up the hall.

Rosalind couldn't resist staring at Chris's impressive midriff, as he came strolling into the room several minutes later, pulling a new T-shirt over it. She took a large gulp of wine.

Chris had caught her staring at him, but judging my the deer-in-headlights expression on her face, he wasn't sure if she was checking him out, having thoughts about earlier, or both.

"What's the matter?" He asked, strolling over to the coffee table to get his glass of wine.

"Nothing," she replied.

Chris could see her body stiffen, so he hesitated before taking that seat next to her.

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine and setting the glass on the table.

"I would like to apologize for earlier," he said, shifting his body so that he could look at her. "My actions were out of line. If I've embarrassed you in any way, I sincerely hope you will forgive me."

Rosalind turned to him and was slightly caught off-guard by the honesty in his eyes.

"It's all right." She said with an uneasy smile. "He got inside your head...He's good at that." She paused a moment and took another big gulp of wine. "But just so you know, I wasn't scared of change or going to London. I chose not to go...Right after I was accepted into art school, I found out I was pregnant. Family seemed more important at the time and—"

Chris held up his hand to stop her.

"Stop. I'm not him. You don't need to explain yourself."

She nodded, pursing her lips. "I just wanted you to know that."

Chris wanted to touch her, but wasn't sure if she would let him.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

She forced a smile. "Thank you...I'm sorry for your divorce."

Despite the heaviness of the topic, Chris laughed.

"Thank you."

He stared at her a few more minutes. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Chris Jericho was blushing. Someone alert the media.

_Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Now the house phone was going off.

Chris pretended as though he didn't hear it. If he ignored Jay, he would go away.

_Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Rosalind furrowed her brow. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Nope."

"What if it's one of your kids?"

Chris didn't say anything for a few minutes.

The ringing finally stopped.

"Oh, he's a kid, but thankfully not one of mine." He answer with a sigh. "That's my best friend Jay. The current bane of my existence. He's the one that keeps pressuring me to get back on the horse. Any preconceived notions you may have had about me, I largely blame on him. He's the mastermind behind that womanizing persona I've acquired."

"Why don't you just make up a girlfriend, so he'll leave you alone?"

_It works well...if you're not sexually attracted to the person. _Rosalind thought, but didn't say aloud.

Chris nodded thoughtfully.

"Or I could just pluck a random young lady out of the tampon section in Wal-Mart and tell him that she's my girlfriend. Knowing Jay, he'll need physical evidence."

"Either way." Rosalind laughed uncomfortably and looked down at a spot on the hardwood floor.

"Besides, why would I need to do that to start with? We have such wonderful awkward moments together."

Chris was expecting her to crack a smile, but she didn't.

He cleared his throat and got to his feet. "I better go check on the dessert again."

Rosalind couldn't help laughing whenever Chris emerged from the kitchen. He was wearing floral oven mitts and carrying a pan of cookies.

"Wrestler, actor, musician, and Master of the Easy-Bake Oven," she giggled. "I never would have guessed."

"I graduated from the Easy-Bake Oven to a regular oven last year, thank you very much," Chris retorted, smirking as he strolled across the living room toward her. He sat the pan on the coffee table with several pot holders placed underneath it. "Cookie?"

Rosalind took a peek at the cookies.

"_Dora the Explorer_?" She looked at him with a raised brow. "After that long monologue yesterday, you mean to tell me you don't have any cookies in the shape of Superman?"

"I'm afraid I'm all out." Chris chuckled, taking a seat next to her. He leaned forward, grabbed a cookie, and offered it to her. "However, if you feel like a bout of food poisoning, I have some five-week-old pie?"

Rosalind giggled, shaking her head, and politely taking his offering.

She leaned back. Her glass of wine was in one hand and the cookie was in the other.

Chris followed. With their heads against the back of the couch, they stared up at the ceiling in silence.

"Hey, Chris?"

"Yes, Rosalind?"

"If you want..." Rosalind swallowed hard and tried to subdue the fast pounding of her heart, "you can be 'out of line' more often."


	7. The Beast is Back

**Disclaimer: I do not own Chris Jericho or anything else pretaining to World Wrestling Entertainment. I am just a fan; and I am not profiting from writing this piece.**

**A/N: This will be the last installment for this piece. (Also, I've went back and corrected some errors that I caught; and I've added and deleted some minor things, so please go back and re-read.) I had no intention of making this a long story; it's already longer than I anticipated. However, I would be willing to continue with the Rosalind/Jericho pairing, if you guys demand it. I could write a longer sequel to this. I'll leave it up to you.**

* * *

The morning sun and a throbbing headache woke Rosalind from her steady slumber. She moaned softly and went roll over to see what time it was. She gasped, almost rolling off the couch. A pair of lifeless arms were wrapped around her and holding her securely in place. Rosalind looked down, momentarily mesmerized by the rising and falling of Chris's chest.

Chris was the epitome of what every woman wanted in a man. When put in the position to either be respectful of a drunk woman on his couch, or take advantage of said drunk woman on his couch, Chris took the higher road. He opted for talking until the wee hours of the morning and then falling asleep in one another's arms.

Rosalind looked up at him and smiled. He was sound asleep with his head drooping to one side. What an exquisite human being. She carefully outlined his jaw with her index finger, as if to commit it to memory. Then she ventured to his lips. Next to his eyes, they were her favorite feature. He would be so easy for her to paint; especially just like this, unaware and venerable.

"HELLO?! HELLO IN THERE!"

Chris and Rosalind jumped simultaneously.

It took Chris a minute or two to realize where he was and what lunatic was banging on the front door. Jay.

"What time is it?" Chris grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Rosalind shrugged and rolled off the couch to let him up.

"CHRIS! OPEN UP, MAN!"

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

Chris groaned and staggered out of the room and into the foyer.

As he opened the door, he was nearly hit by Jay's fist, which was reared back and ready to give the door another beating.

"Why are you yelling?" Chris asked, yawning and leaning against the door.

"Why am I yelling?" Jay scoffed, throwing his head back. He was looking stark-raving mad, even more so than usual. "I'll tell you why I'm yelling! Our flight leaves in twenty minutes, and you're taking a catnap!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" Chris wailed, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I'll say," Jay nodded. "Come on, bro, get a move on."

"Five minutes," Chris frantically backed away from the door. "Give me five minutes."

Jay invited himself in.

Chris was heading for the living room. He was muttering to himself, trying to come up with a polite way to tell Rosalind that she had to leave. He was unaware that Jay was hot on his heels.

Rosalind met him in the doorway.

"Chris, is everything all right?" she asked, concerned.

"Well, I see you decided to play house after all." Jay said to Chris as he flashed Rosalind a cheeky grin. "Looking good there, Mrs. Brady."

Chris spun around and slapped Jay across the side of his head.

"What? It was a compliment."

"Just go upstairs and get my suitcases, you impudent imbecile."

Jay rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs.

"I'm really late for my flight," Chris explained as he turned his attention back to Rosalind. He took her hands in his. "I know that this is going to sound extremely rude, and I apologize in advance..."

"It's okay," Rosalind smiled, giving him an knowing nod. "I understand. You go catch your flight...I can just take cab."

"Thank you," he grinned, kissing the tops of her hands. "When I get back home, maybe we could go out to eat or catch a movie or something."

Rosalind blushed. "I'd like that."

Chris called Rosalind a cab, paid off the driver, and reluctantly sent her on her way. He and Jay scrambled to gather all of Chris's luggage. They were standing in the foyer while Chris checked everything off of his mental checklist.

Jay was leaning against the railing of the stairs. He was eyeing his best friend with that cocky, but benevolent, smirk across unshaven face.

"So, how was it, bro?"

"How was what?" Chris asked inattentively.

"Duh, that sweet taste of freedom."

"Sweet taste of freedom?" Chris raised a brow.

"Dude, do I have to spell it out for you?" Jay laughed. "How did it feel to be riding Miss Daisy? What was it like to cut loose after all these years?"

"I did not 'ride Miss Daisy,' as you so tastefully put it," Chris rolled eyes as he slung his duffle bag over one shoulder. "Her name is Rosalind; and you refer to her in such terms again, I'm going to have to ask you to put your lower lip over your big fat melon head and swallow it...You know, it's an absolute mystery to me how your wife hasn't castrated you and put your balls in a pickle jar on the kitchen table. You're demeaning social standpoint on the opposite sex is abysmal."

Jay stared blankly at him for a moment.

"You know what's demeaning? The fact that I practically have to pack a Thesaurus whenever I travel with you."

Chris smirked.

"What do you do at night?" Jay was asking as the two of them prepared to go out the door. "Do you just lay awake concocting these well-constructed sentences to confuse average human beings?"

Chris chuckled, opening the door.

Rosalind was standing there. She was biting her lower lip and debating on whether or not she should knock.

"Chris," Rosalind's voice hitched as she spoke. "Ummm...Hi."

Chris looked at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Hi."

"Hi..."

A brief moment of silence.

"Aren't you supposed to be halfway home by now?"

Rosalind nodded uncomfortably.

"I-I was...I had him turn back around." She gestured over her shoulder to the yellow cab parked at the end of his driveway. "The meter's still running. I, uh, I forgot something."

Chris thought for a moment.

"Oh, right. That autograph for your nephew." He looked back at Jay. "Hey, would you mind running into my office and grabbing an eight-by-ten and a Sharpie?"

Jay nodded and quickly sprinted out of the foyer.

"Thanks, but I wasn't talking about that."

Rosalind shuffled uneasily for a moment. Then she looked up at him with those bedroom eyes, grabbed him by his T-shirt, and pulled him into an unexpected passionate kiss. Chris moaned in surprise as Rosalind jerked him onto his front porch. He dropped his suitcase, cupped her face in his hands, and deepened the kiss.

When Rosalind pulled back, Chris staggered and stared at her with a dazed expression. She blushed, biting her lip.

"I forgot to say Good Morning."

Chris smirked. "Good Morning."

They stared at one another for a moment.

"Well, that's it then." Rosalind smiled nervously. "That's all I wanted to say...do. I had better get going or you will miss your flight for sure. I'll see you soon."

Chris nodded. "See you soon."

She smiled again and then turned and slowly started walking down the driveway.

"Hey," Jay spoke over Chris's shoulder. He was holding one of Chris's promotional photos and a Sharpie. "Where's she going?"

Chris didn't answer as he watched Rosalind get inside the cab.

He then turned to Jay with a wide grin, and cheerfully exclaimed, "The sexy beast is back, bay-bay!"


End file.
